The Boy With The Blank Stare: Future

Chapter Four: Narration

Saihara's POV:

"Unpack, I left some work for you in your room and I need you to do some of the chores, since you've just arrived home I expect you to finish at least one or you can make dinner and I'll discard the rest" My Father instructed as soon as I entered the house. I nodded silently as he left the room towards his own office. 

The house was cold and empty, it's been like that for years from the monotonous white color of the walls, to the clean furniture that was stainless but rarely ever used. The apartment was modern in all regards, with only one real family picture in the living room.

The picture was from when I was maybe six I had looked petrified in the photo and was wearing a white collared shirt, my hands awkwardly at my side as I had tried to appear natural, my mother looked so healthy back, her long white hair had been braided and curled as she wore a light blue gown, her arms wrapped around me with a large smile. My father had a little bit of a beard growing and was wearing a casual outfit for him, meaning suit and a tie, and for once broke from his serious stance and instead had one arm around my mother and he was looking at her, his eyes filled with adoration at her.  

I don't remember this anymore, not the house that once had my drawings plastered up on the walls everywhere, or the Christmas decorations in boxes across everywhere because my mother would always forget to put them away. How my mother used to plant flowers and sing in the hallways when she probably thought no one was listening. The little decorative pillows she had gotten over the years that never matched the decoration, but my father loved anyway was all stripped away. The only trace left of that time was the framed picture, the only thing neither me nor my father touched, not even to dust, as if afraid touching it would shatter the memory.

Being back in this house now brought shivers down my spine.

The only sense of warmth was the memory of my mother was still in this place, how she lingered on in the potted plants we never changed out, or her long-abandoned studio which once had been flooded with dozens of projects at once. It was as if her mind couldn't contain the innovation that existed inside of her, so it demanded an entire room to unpack, I loved that room but the last time she had been able to use that room was when I was ten years old. Before she lost more mobility in her fingers and accidentally sliced herself in one of her craft projects, or when needlework became too draining for her that she gave up trying. Her room was still there, my father's coworkers occasionally recommended the space for other uses such as a study for me or turning it into a guest room but my father always denied them. We both agreed on that, so the room remained as it had the day she left it, down to the faded yellow paint that had stained the door,

Even that memory though, barely brought any sort of comfort to me as I stared out into the bleak space, before sighing. I couldn't stay at the entrance, it wasn't like my father was going to change his mind and all of a sudden let me return to my Uncle's house. By standing here I was just delaying the inevitable, so I changed my shoes and grabbed my thin suitcase as I stepped fully into the house, despite all the urges my body cried out for me to turn around. 

I wish Uncle put up more of a fight....once my Uncle and my Father confronted they just exchanged harsh words and he handed me over to my Father, bags in tow. For the grand show he had put on earlier in the day, he barely attempted to stop my father and all he had for consolation was a look of guilt on his face as my Aunt had given me a brief hug as I left, with making sure I promised to return. I knew she wasn't asking for me to return though, her eyes were begging for me to solve the case she had overheard those nights ago. No matter what, the case would be solved though.

My father and I barely spoke the entire trip, it had been only a few months apart yet it felt like I was with a stranger as we made forced small talk, a simple comment about the airport's security, and him asking a little about what I did while I was away. We drove ourselves through the social norms that a father probably should have had with their son.